


paramour

by velveitine



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 1700s France used as a plot device, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Creampie, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Minimal Plot, Hand Jobs, Lingerie, M/M, Porn with Feelings, kind of?, olive oil isn't used for baking in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 21:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velveitine/pseuds/velveitine
Summary: Stiles mumbles against Derek’s chest, “My back is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow.”“It was worth it though, right?”Stiles snorts and snuggles closer, “Oh yeah,definitely.”





	paramour

**Author's Note:**

> pardon my horny on main
> 
> this fic was born from a discussion about louis xiv sluttin' it up between me and my friends in our french class, which inevitably turned nasty, specifically toward doing the nasty in the hall of mirrors. 
> 
> when in france, i guess

Derek pulls Stiles lightly by the hand, guiding him carefully through the halls of the palace, checking every once and a while to ensure the blindfold that delicately covers Stiles’ eyes remains in place. They’re both laughing like children, Stiles tripping over his own feet and Derek high on the idea of being caught by one of the staff.

Derek slows to a stop and turns to Stiles, pressing a finger lightly over the younger man’s lips and shushing him, then presses his back against cold stone and peeks around the last corner of their journey.

The hall is empty, which isn’t so abnormal since it’s fairly early on a Sunday and most of the King’s court and the palace's staff would soon be in the chapel attending service until late into the morning; too bad Derek wasn’t one of faith.

Derek tugs lightly on Stiles’ hand again and whispers against the cloth of the blindfold covering his ear, “Almost there, I promise." They both continue down the hall— Derek being ever so careful to stay on the lookout for guards and Stiles none-the-wiser to his current situation— quickly reaching their destination. It had always been one of Derek’s favorite places to be around the sunrise, and he usually only watched it by himself.

As Derek comes to a halt, Stiles lets out an exasperated sigh, “Can you take off the blindfold now? It’s hardly necessary as I’ve been through the palace tens of times,” he can hear the sound of a door clicking shut and a lock sliding into place.

“Maybe you have, but not with me.” Lifting Stiles’ hand to his lips, Derek kisses ghost over the soft skin of his knuckles. “Not like this. I know how much you _adore_ being a tease, but now it’s my turn and the blindfold stays on until I say so.” Derek leads Stiles to a part of the floor he knows has been worn relatively soft by years of court parties. “Sit, and please just be quiet for a bit, I promise I'll make it worth your time.”

Stiles lets out a few quiet curses, but eventually lets Derek guide him down to the floor so he is sitting cross-legged on what feels like… wood? The chill of it starts to seep through Stiles’ shorts, the thin white silk more for show than for function, but he disregards it, only focusing on the sound of rustling fabric and Derek’s labored breathing above him. He could take a quick guess of what Derek is doing, but doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

Before Stiles can assume anything, warm hands cup his jaw and he can feel Derek’s lips pressing against his own, tongue licking a stripe across his bottom lip. He complies with Derek’s silent request and parts his lips, Derek’s tongue immediately meeting his own in a hot, messy kiss. One of Derek’s hands moves to intertwine itself in Stiles’ hair, massaging comforting circles into his scalp as the other slides to cup the back of Stiles’ neck.

Derek moves both of his hands in unison down to the tie of the thin robe that stretches across Stiles' shoulders, pulling out the bow and letting the garment fall so it rests over the crook of Stiles’ elbows. Derek detaches from the kiss and sits back to admire his work, leaving Stiles’ lips swollen and cheeks flushed a shade of rose.

“I've always loved how you looked in these little shorts,” Derek picks at the thin material and moves so his mouth is adjacent to Stiles’ ear, whispering in a way that makes a familiar heat uncurl in the pit of his stomach, “I wish you could see yourself like this. You look absolutely  _heavenly._ ”

Derek leaves sloppy kisses along Stiles’ jaw and down the column of his throat, his teeth lightly scraping the skin above the junction of his neck and collarbone, nipping at it just to mark Stiles as his. Stiles lets out a soft whine, urging Derek along.

Derek laps his tongue over the worried flesh and shifts his focus, first leaving butterfly kisses across Stiles’ collarbone and sternum, then down over a toned pec, his mouth landing over Stiles’ nipple and making him gasp in surprise. He sucks on the pink nub, letting one of his hands venture across the dips of Stiles’ ribs and down over his back, dipping below the waistband of the soft silk that hangs low over the curve of Stiles’ hips just how he likes them.

Derek can hear a low grumble in Stiles’ throat as he cups the gentle curve of his ass, squeezing the soft flesh and muscle. Stiles’ ass is undeniably one of Derek’s favorite parts of him, supple and dappled in cute little moles and tiny freckles, and it’s all his for the taking. He tugs at the silk of Stiles’ robe, pulling his arms free of the material and tossing it to the side.

He can almost hear Stiles’ voice in the back of his head, grumbling about the possibility of dirt ruining the expensive fabric.

Derek pulls back all remaining points of contact, leaving Stiles with nothing but his hearing as he shuffles behind him, coaxing him up onto his knees. “Lean back against me.”

Stiles settles back against Derek’s bare chest, relaxing with the return of curious fingers as they explore the taut muscles of his stomach. Derek’s fingertips ghost over Stiles’ navel and down toward the feathery trail of hair that disappears below the waistband of his shorts.

Derek is quick to dip his hand beneath the silky fabric, taking Stiles’ half hard cock into his hand and slowly stroking him. Stiles’ head falls against his shoulder, wordless pleas and breathy moans tumbling from his lips without any intention of being suppressed.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” Derek gives himself the opportunity to suck a light bruise into the skin just beneath Stiles’ jawline, “I feel as though I’ve been blessed by the heavens to be the only one to see you in this state.” His lips move against Stiles’ jaw as he speaks, ”I want to show you my appreciation in full.”

Before Stiles can respond, Derek pulls the blindfold off with his free hand, Stiles’ vision abruptly being filled with soft shades of blue, peach, rose, and gold of the sunrise. He then picks his head up off his shoulder, seeing immediately why Derek had blindfolded him.

The two are positioned before an extravagant floor-to-ceiling mirror, Stiles’ own body on display before him. He looks at himself, his front an intoxicating arrangement of purpling bruises and bites, back arched deliciously against Derek’s chest and face a flushed mess of ecstasy and arousal.

Derek’s hand is still buried shamelessly deep in Stiles’ shorts, but he can see the hint of his dick curving up against his stomach below the thin material, sensitive head poking out above the waistband, precome leaking across his belly and wetting the silk just below. Derek’s hand emerges from the shorts, his thumb running against the thin slit of Stiles’ head and teasing at the delicate foreskin.

Stiles can’t help but groan at the sight of their reflection, his breathing quickly becoming erratic as the heat from before returns, pooling low in his stomach.

Derek wraps his fingers around the base of Stiles’ dick, picking up a rhythm that has his hips rolling and thrusting upward to meet Derek’s hand halfway.

Stiles wavers at the edge of a cliff, Derek’s fingers pressing at the spot between his balls and his entrance and sending him over, groaning as white hot ribbons fall across his stomach and Derek’s hand. His entire body vibrates as Derek strokes him through his orgasm until he whimpers and his hips stutter from the overstimulation.

Swiping his fore and middle finger through the cum on Stiles’ stomach, Derek brings his hand to Stiles’ lips. Happily indulging him, Stiles takes the two fingers into his mouth and sucks until they pull back out with a lewd _pop_. Stiles can taste the salty musk on his tongue and he shudders.

Positioning Stiles so he’s laying on his back, Derek hovers over him on his elbows and licks the come off of his stomach in wet stripes, making goosebumps erupt across Stiles’ skin as he giggles from the sensation.

“That tickles, you bastard.” Stiles cards his fingers through Derek’s hair, smiling when he leans into the touch and his eyes flutter shut.

After situating himself so he’s laying alongside Stiles on his back, Derek turns his head. The whiskey brown of Stiles' irises have turned to a glowing golden honey in the sunlight and his eyelashes sweep in a soft arc against the curve of his cheekbone.

Stiles scrunches his nose and points half-heartedly toward the windows that act as frames for the picturesque display of the palace’s gardens, basking in the soft warmth of the sun. “Der, the sunrise is that way.”

“I’ve found something that’s much more worthy of my attention.”

After pestering Derek about possibly having the flu, because _that was_ _so cheesy, he must be ill_ , Stiles sits up and retrieves his robe from where it sits on the floor a few feet away, tying it back around his waist as Derek buttons his shirt.

They pick up any trace of their presence and leave, closing the doors of the Hall of Mirrors with a quiet _click_.

 

⁂

 

After tiptoeing through the halls, stifling giggles and keeping a careful eye out for any of the King’s court or those on guard, the two stumble into Derek’s chambers, a large bed fit for a king in the middle, the vibrant vermillion walls accented with gold amplifying the sense of privilege and luxury.

Derek pins Stiles against the wall, meeting him halfway in a rushed kiss that’s mostly teeth and full of hunger. Stiles’ hand explores playfully, settling over Derek’s crotch, his fingers curling around him lazily. Derek moans into their kiss and bites down on his own lip, his forehead resting against Stiles’. Painfully separating from the kiss, Stiles slides down the wall until most of his body weight is resting on his knees, his eyes level with the tent in Derek’s pants that has become increasingly less-ignorable by the second.

Stiles peers upward through thick lashes, his brows pulling together in genuine concern when he sees Derek worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Derek answers, his voice soft. "Keep going, please?"

Stiles hums and focuses back on the task at hand, popping the button of Derek’s trousers, pulling the zipper and tugging at the waistline. The fabric falls to the ground and Derek steps out of each leg, kicking the pants off to somewhere unimportant. Underneath, a pair of well-fitting grey shorts leave nothing to the imagination, fitting Derek like a second skin.

The curve of Derek’s cock beneath his shorts is mouthwateringly alluring, the velvety-soft head just barely poking above the waistband and wetting the grey fabric with pre-come. Stiles stands up on his knees and wraps his hands around the back of Derek’s thighs, feeling at the taut muscle as he shifts forward to press the flat of his tongue against the growing damp spot.

Despite the extremely minimal stimulation, Derek groans low in his throat, deep and animalistic. And it goes straight to Stiles’ dick

Before he can distract himself any more than he already has, Stiles fidgets with the waistband of Derek’s shorts, pulling them loose from where they sit already dangerously low over his hips. The head of his cock catches on the fabric before the entire length springs free, dark and swollen as it curves up against his stomach, already hard from the anticipation. 

Stiles, ever the tease, shifts and grazes his teeth up Derek’s thigh, feeling as the muscles beneath him tense even more than before. He can almost smell Derek’s arousal, coming off of him in waves.

Derek squirms under his touch, impatient.

Stiles leans in, flattening his tongue against the base of Derek’s cock and licking experimentally up the shaft. Derek’s head thuds against the wall, a choked whine spilling out of his lips, “Mother of _— nngh,_ ” Stiles takes Derek into his mouth, getting about two thirds of the way down before bobbing his head back up, hollowing his cheeks and giving the foreskin a few teasing tugs.

Derek feels like hot velvet on Stiles’ tongue, his hips rocking as he lets out low, quiet groans against the wall.

Stiles looks up again, straight into Derek’s eyes, and dives right back down as far as he can possibly reach, down until his nose is buried into the dark hair below Derek’s navel. He keens, distractedly running his fingers through Stiles’ hair.

“God, Stiles, you’re so— _fuck, mmh_ — so pretty for me.” His palms settle at the back of Stiles’ head, slowly fucking into his mouth. Small tears well up in the corners of Stiles’ eyes, but he hums gratefully around the weight grinding down into his tongue and the back of his throat, sending low vibrations through Derek’s dick.

Derek shudders, fingers fisting into Stiles’ hair and pulling him off, a thin string of saliva connecting Derek’s head and Stiles’ swollen lips, “I’m gonna— _fuck, Stiles!_ ” Derek grunts and comes in hot white spurts, mostly in Stiles’ open mouth, though some of it lands on his cheek and chin. Derek wobbles, leaning most of his weight into the wall as he starts coming down from his high, watching Stiles wipe the cum from his face and lick it from his fingers.

“You’re really something, aren’t you?”

Stiles grins and stands back up, knees shaking slightly as Derek dives in for a rough kiss, nipping at his bottom lip.

Derek’s hands find their way under Stiles’ ass, not a surprise in the least, and hoist him up. Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, his heels lightly digging into the small of Derek’s back as he’s carried away from the wall and toward the bed at the opposite side of the room. Derek about trips over the folds of a thick fur rug, too occupied by the feeling of Stiles’ lips moving languidly against his own to notice.

Derek drops Stiles onto the soft duvet of the bed and he bounces on the mattress with a little _oof_. Derek hastily pulls at the first few buttons of his shirt, quickly becoming impatient and roughly yanking the garment over his head just to discard it somewhere on the floor. Stiles follows suit with his robe, his fingers fumbling with the bow until he shrugs the thin covering off and drapes it over the bed’s footboard.

Derek stands back, eyes slowly dragging over Stiles’ torso, the tiny possessive voice in his head screaming, _mine, mine, all mine_. Stiles’ toned skin is filthily littered with love-bites, his nipples pink and taut.

Derek lets his eyes drift further down over Stiles’ obviously interested dick straining obscenely against the white silk, and further over the inside of his thighs. Despite the fact that everyone within a fifty mile radius knows that Stiles— and Stiles alone— is his paramour, Derek wants to mark him up, making it obvious to everyone that _Stiles belongs to him_.

His eyes flit back up to Stiles’, deep amber pools glimmering with lust. Stiles grins and pats his palms against his thighs, beckoning Derek to come closer, coaxing him into the space between his spread legs as they hang over the edge of the bed. Derek happily complies and begins to knead the tender muscle on the inside of Stiles’ thighs with his thumb, gliding his palms under thin white silk and around to grab his ass, pulling their bodies flush together.

Derek shifts forward so his lips ghost across the shell of Stiles’ ear and whispers, “I’d like to fuck you, if that’s alright." He can feel Stiles stiffen, then let out a snort.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Derbear."

Derek flattens his palm against Stiles’ sternum, pushing him carefully back into the mattress and leaning into a kiss— soft and vanilla at first, quickly turning wet and full of lust. He trails soft kisses down Stiles’ chest, exploring the soft dip of his stomach with his lips down to his navel. Derek shifts and hooks his fingers around the delicate white waistband, Stiles lifting his hips as Derek pulls the shorts he loves so much over the gentle swell of Stiles’ ass and down his legs, dropping them to the floor.

Derek leans over one of Stiles’ legs to open the top drawer of his ornate bedside table, taking out a small bottle of thick golden liquid. Stiles strains to pick his head up off the mattress, “Whatcha got there?”

Derek twists the cap open, letting some of the liquid drizzle onto his fingers, “Oil. You couldn’t pay me a thousand livres to use my own spit as lubrication.”

Stiles’ Adam’s apple bobs; with nervousness or excitement, Derek can’t tell. He gets up on the bed between Stiles’ legs, sitting back on his haunches and looking down at himself, his dick already stirring again in interest. He lazily strokes himself to hardness, a familiar buzz building in the pit of his stomach. He lets his hand fall and grabs the bottle again, letting the rest of the liquid drip down onto his fingers.

He situates himself, trying to find the most comfortable position as he hooks one of Stiles’ legs over his shoulder, the other leaning against his hip. Derek kisses the inside of one of Stiles’ calves, sensing that he is probably still a bit nervous even though they have fucked a few times before.

“Don’t worry, I’ll treat you well, just like I always do." Derek’s tone is soothing as he slowly eases a slicked finger into Stiles, pushing in and out of him, trying to find a pleasurable rhythm. Low moans fall from Stiles’ lips, his eyes fluttering shut as Derek adds a second finger, a spark of white-hot pleasure shooting up Stiles’ spine.

Derek works him open and curls his fingers against a sweet spot, Stiles keening and rocking back onto Derek’s fingertips, dick twitching excitedly. Overwhelmed with pleasure and stimulation as Derek continues to rub his prostate, Stiles babbles, “ _Ahh, right there, so good, mmh, that’s_ — “

Stiles’ breath hitches as Derek adds a third finger, hips jolting uncontrollably and fingers curling into the silk sheets, “Derek, _please,_ ” Stiles croaks, voice obscenely hoarse and cheeks stained a shade similar to the sheets he’s grasping onto like a lifeline.

Derek quirks a brow, intentionally being difficult, “Use your words Stiles, what do you want?” Derek keeps his fingers moving in and out of Stiles at a slow-but-steady pace.

“Stop being a tease and fuck me already!” Stiles cries out, both hands flying to cover his steadily reddening face. Derek’s fingers stutter, then pull out, leaving Stiles feeling painfully empty.

Stiles is beginning to think that he had pissed Derek off until he sinks into him, Derek’s thighs flush against his ass. Stiles gasps from the pain and the pressure, trembling weakly and crying out at a thrust he swears he can feel all the way in his stomach.

“Is this okay?” Derek’s face quickly dawns an expression of concern.

“Yeah, just— give me a few seconds,” Stiles takes a deep breath and nods, giving Derek the ‘all-good’.

Derek starts to move, slowly at first, letting Stiles accommodate to the new feeling. He speeds up as Stiles begins to meet his thrusts with equal enthusiasm, one of his legs now manually pushing Derek deeper. He leans over, still keeping a steady pace while setting more bruises into the skin of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles can feel the familiar sensation of arousal unfurling in his stomach, “So— _ahh_ — so fucking full,” his mouth falls open, moaning into another thrust.

That’s one of the little things about Stiles that Derek loves so much— can’t get enough of.

Around Derek— and especially his father, thank God— in public, Stiles keeps a steady resolve, staying silent most of the time, perhaps butting in on a conversation regarding a political matter if it interests him enough. Alone, Stiles can drive Derek mad with how vocal he is, this time being no exception. Alone, he can never keep his mouth shut, whether it be moaning and whimpering, or a lewd comment that comes spilling out without any filter, Derek lives for it all.

Without any warning, Derek pulls completely out of Stiles, leaving him to whimper at the overwhelming feeling of emptiness and fading ecstasy.

“I’m flipping over.” Derek moves from above Stiles to the top of the bed, leaning back against plush pillows and patting his lap just as Stiles had done before. “C’mere."

Stiles sits up and crawls across the bed until he’s situated himself over Derek’s cock, one hand clamped roughly around the headboard and the other flat against Derek’s stomach. Stiles’ eyes are hooded as he lowers himself onto Derek, slowly inching down, silent and focused.

“ _Ah_ ,” Stiles whines as he slips all the way down Derek’s length, letting out a slow breath as his ass sits flush against Derek’s thighs.

Stiles’ dick twitches between them, deliciously curving upward toward his stomach, a bead of precome dripping from the tip. Stiles moves to touch himself, but Derek swats his hand away, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “I want you to come for me, Stiles. Untouched.”

Stiles gives him a sour look, but he isn’t one to deny Derek’s wishes. “Fine,” he huffs stubbornly. When Derek gives him a cocky smirk, Stiles makes a point to grind down onto his cock, rewarded with a sharp grunt.

 _Petty revenge_.

Derek’s hands trail across Stiles’ hipbones and drift upward, the soft pads of his thumbs feeling at Stiles’ stomach, the muscles taut as he pushes upwards and sinks back down onto Derek’s cock. Stiles’ body is lithe and his slender chest heaves with the effort of riding Derek and staying upright. Stiles is high on endorphins and bubbling over with happy little hiccups, “mm— _damn_ ,” his skin feels like it’s going to burst into flames, and it _definitely_ isn’t from embarrassment.

Derek’s thrusts speed up, pounding into Stiles with a reckless abandon that he only employs when he’s teetering over the edge.

Stiles beats him to it with barely enough time to gasp _i’m coming, fuck, i’m coming_ , before he spatters across Derek’s chest. Derek follows close behind, his hips rolling and eyebrows drawing together as he groans, coming inside Stiles and filling him. When Stiles comes down from his high, he pulls himself off of Derek with limbs comparable to noodles.

Derek’s cum spills out of Stiles and he feels like he’s been marked.

He waits patiently on the bed as Derek slides off, walking across the room to a small basin filled with water and wetting a soft cloth. He wrings the excess water out and wipes Stiles’ cum from his chest. He makes his way back to Stiles, handing over the cloth and waiting for him to clean himself up. Stiles discards the rag and showers Derek with open mouthed kisses as he lowers himself back onto the bed.

Derek settles into the sheets with his arm hooked around Stiles’ hips, reveling in the way his and Stiles’ scents mix together, feeling his breathing steady out as all the adrenaline drains from his system, leaving him sleepy and blissfully content.

Stiles mumbles against Derek’s chest, “My back is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow.”

“It was worth it though, right?”

Stiles snorts and snuggles closer, “Oh yeah, _definitely_.”


End file.
